


strangers we've become

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Late Night Conversations, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29099469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: I was dealin' with some shit, feeling like a bit of an outsider among friends, like I didn't belong, no one actually enjoys my company, etc. So I went and wrote this. Originally supposed be a Malcolm POV, I accidentially fell into habit and wrote it from Trip's... and then back to Malcolm.Oh well.Set sometime early-mid season 3.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	strangers we've become

**Author's Note:**

> I was dealin' with some shit, feeling like a bit of an outsider among friends, like I didn't belong, no one actually enjoys my company, etc. So I went and wrote this. Originally supposed be a Malcolm POV, I accidentially fell into habit and wrote it from Trip's... and then back to Malcolm.
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Set sometime early-mid season 3.

_"The blackest night,_

_the midnight sun,_

_the covered tracks and days spent on the run,_

_the strangers we've become."_

\- Whereabouts Unknown, Rise Against

* * *

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?”

Trip lifts his head and stares across the table at his friend. Of all people he expects to get existential in an empty mess hall on a late night, Malcolm is at the bottom of his list. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Malcolm’s gaze is somewhere far off; he isn’t looking Trip in the eye. _Hasn’t_ looked him in the eye for some time now. With a sinking heart, Trip realizes his constant blowing up at Malcolm very likely has something to do with it.

“It’s odd, really,” Malcolm goes on. “I come from a military background. I’ve always felt out of place here on _Enterprise,_ where the Captain chats amongst his crew like they’re friends and invites them to dinner on random occasions.” He takes a sip of his coffee which must be cold by now they’ve been sitting for so long, but Malcolm doesn’t seem to notice. “I knew from the moment I stepped foot on this ship that my tactics, the ones I’d been raised to uphold, would not gel well with the rest of the routine. Yet now that the structure has turned rigid and the days so much akin to what my father and grandfather would boast about from their time in the navy, I still feel like an outsider.”

Trip contemplates his glass of milk. The silence stretches on, long enough to become uncomfortable. Finally, Trip speaks up. “Things change.”

“That they do,” Malcolm replies. “People, too. I’ve often found that people change all the more drastically, whether for better or worse.” He’s fiddling with his hands now, wringing them together, pulling at callouses and hangnails: habits which Trip hasn’t seen in a year. Habits which mean Malcolm is deeply troubled.

“Fer better or worse?” Trip echoes in confusion, though he knows full well what Malcolm is alluding to. “An’ what d’ya mean by that, huh?”

At a point in time so long ago now, Malcolm’s eyes would have flashed with hurt – even only briefly – at the harsh tone which the words were spoken. Now, though, his gaze is blank as he looks up at Trip.

“Sometimes, the people you once called friends, become but mere strangers.”

The words carry a weight so great it knocks the breath out of Trip for a good couple of seconds. He sits at the table in the empty mess hall, his hands clasped so tight around his glass that his knuckles turn the same shade as the milk, locked in a staring match with… with…

_A stranger,_ his mind provides.

And perhaps that is the only way to describe the man before him. It’s like a fog has lifted. Suddenly Trip can see Malcolm clearly, and he can see exactly how the last few months have affected him. He sees the weight Malcolm has lost, most noticeable in his hollow cheekbones and the way the uniform seems to hang off his shoulders. He sees the dark circles under cool grey eyes; a testament to many sleepless nights. Most shocking of all, though, is the detached, dead expression in the very eyes which once held a burning flame so hot it put the Earth’s sun to shame. A lifetime of passion has been drained, replaced with grim, dutiful determination.

And it makes Trip feel sick.

“Malcolm,” he begins hoarsely. “Listen, I…”

That’s as far as he gets. He can’t think of anything to say, because what _can_ he say? Months of letting his own revenge drive him, neglecting his personal relationships – there doesn’t seem to be enough words in his vocabulary to fix things.

To his credit, Malcolm waits. He waits until Trip closes his mouth and hangs his head in shame, and only then does he nod and gets to his feet, for he understands. It’s hard to talk to someone you barely know.

It’s not the first time this has happened, yet somehow, this is the worst of them.

“Right,” Malcolm whispers, the tremor in his voice barely noticeable. “I think I’ll turn in, then. We’ve a long day ahead of us.” He hesitates for only a moment longer, a part of him wishing – no, _hoping_ – that Trip will raise his head and look at him and beg him not to leave, but no such objection comes forth. “Goodnight, Commander.”

Trip grunts in reply. He doesn’t dare speak, fearful at what might come out if he opens his mouth. Even if he somehow managed to control his words, his tone is a whole different matter. Best not say anything at all.

So, he sits stiffly, mutely, listening to Malcolm’s footsteps recede, followed by the gentle woosh of the door opening, and at the last moment he raises his head to watch his friend step out into the brightly lit hallway.

Then the door slides shut, and Trip is alone once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the title, I maaAAAYYY have a tiny obsession with Rise Against....


End file.
